Take Care
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Bakura is watching Marik from a distance. He is watching, and he knows that Marik is struggling more than he will let on. Thiefshipping oneshot set post-canon


**Have some more thiefshipping. The prompt was for something angsty, and I had fun with it ^_^ It's set post-canon, where Bakura and Atem have returned in their own bodies.**

 **I was listening to 'Take Care' by Florence and the Machine when I wrote this, so some of that may have crept in, and Yu-Gi-Oh! and its characters are Kazuki Takahashi's, not mine.**

 **Warnings for bad language and alcohol mentions.**

"You're a mess, Ishtar."

That low, cool voice could not have been more unwelcome to the Egyptian teenager at that point in the evening. He leaned forwards against the sink, his nose wrinkled with the disgusting scent of the public toilets, and a deep crease furrowed his brow. His violet eyes were a little hazy. His fingers were clenched tight in the filthy white ceramic of the sink as he shot back a bitter reply. "Of course _you_ would show up here, Bakura."

The lean, white-haired man leaned in the doorway, his deep brown eyes cool as they pinned Marik in place. "But of course."

"Why do you even bother?" Marik finally continued with a harsh chuckle. His violet eyes met Bakura's in the mirror, reflected back out of his flushed face and rumpled blond hair, nothing like his usual immaculate style. The marks under his eyes were jagged, rough against his high cheekbones.

Bakura didn't move except to tug one corner of his mouth up into a smirk. "I'm keeping an eye on what is mine."

"I am not yours," Marik shot back automatically, but there was no venom in his tone.

"We both know that you are, Ishtar."

Marik brushed away those words, and the shiver that rippled down his spine, with apparent ease. He turned his attention back to his reflection, hating the dizziness tugging at the edges of his vision, the mess of his hair and the unnatural heat of his skin. He could feel the alcohol slipping through his system at a dizzying rate. Marik squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding already. He splashed some water over his face.

Footsteps, and then a cool hand on his shoulder. "You will have to stop running away at some point."

"No, I don't," Marik answered thickly, fully aware of how childish he sounded.

Bakura gave a low snort. The hand on Marik's shoulder tightened, spinning him around so that he was forced to meet Bakura's deep brown gaze again. One white eyebrow was arched at him. "You're just making a mess of yourself."

"It's alright for you," Marik mumbled without thinking.

Bakura frowned at him. "How so?"

"You're back because … because _he_ 's back." Marik's face crumpled up into a grimace, nothing like his usual, controlled self.

Bakura eased back a careful step. Marik must be even more drunk than he had realised, to be broaching this topic so easily, so he proceeded with caution. "…And you think that's alright?"

"For _you_." Marik glared down at the sticky bathroom floor.

"I fail to see how."

"You're getting to live again." Marik's eyes squeezed shut, and he drew in a shaky breath. Bakura could almost feel him trembling. "But I … _I can't live with him here_."

Bakura's eyes narrowed. "You think I don't understand that?"

Marik's violet eyes turned straight on Bakura, pinning him with such a direct gaze that Bakura almost felt it as a punch to his stomach. Marik's voice was surprisingly harsh. "I think you've forgotten that you should be upset."

Bakura's jaw clicked. "I don't forget anything, _Ishtar_."

"Could have fooled me."

"You're treading on dangerous ground."

"I don't care." Marik shifted on his feet, barely holding Bakura's gaze for just another moment before he turned back to the door. "I'm going for a drink."

"I think you've had enough."

"Nowhere near."

Bakura clicked his tongue, watching Marik move back towards the door to re-enter the club. The pounding music rumbled through the thin bathroom walls, pressing in loudly against their ears, but Bakura knew it would only be worse out there among the mess of bodies and alcohol and Gods-knew-what-else. His brown eyes followed the back of Marik's blond head all the way to the door before he spoke again.

"Marik."

The blond head just barely paused.

"I'll still be watching you."

Another moment of hanging silence, and then Marik gave a final, harsh snort before exiting. The door swung shut behind him with a definite, final thud.

…

A few weeks later, Bakura knew the instant Marik was getting himself into danger again.

He had known from the moment he heard about the increase in robberies from the museum. He himself had not been responsible, and he could only think of one other person in this entire city with enough ability and intent to carry off such reckless, dangerous heists. At least he hadn't been caught yet.

It wasn't difficult to find him. Bakura merely had to lurk in the dark alleys every night, waiting patiently, until he found one of Marik's regular escape routes. It was a new moon the night he found him, the sky painted deep black, just a few stars out to light their weary way through the darkness.

Bakura pushed off the slick alley wall when he heard the near-silent sound of running footsteps. It was easy as anything to step out in front of Marik, just as he had the first time they met, only this time he knew exactly what he was getting himself into. "Ishtar."

Marik stopped abruptly. He was dressed head-to-toe in black, with a deep hood tugged full over his head, casting his face in deep shadow, but Bakura had no doubt that this was indeed him. A close-wrapped package was clutched to Marik's chest.

Violet eyes, leaking black in the night air, glared out at Bakura. "The hell do you want?"

"I said I would be watching you."

Marik rolled his eyes in a very exaggerated gesture. "Well, if you could do that sometime I'm _not_ running away from a crime scene, that would be great."

Bakura folded his arms, as at ease as he ever was. "Why are you stealing?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just answer the question, Ishtar."

Marik sent him a heavy, harsh glare. "Because I damn well want to. Problem?"

"No," Bakura answered easily.

"Good, so get out of…"

"In fact, I'm impressed," Bakura interrupted, "Or I would be if you weren't being so reckless."

Marik sputtered. "Reckless?!"

Bakura jerked his head in a cool nod.

Marik advanced on him with a deeply narrowed violet glare. His blond hair hung damply down his face, clinging to the top of his back in slick strands, and his handsome features were twisted into a snarl. "What I do is no business of yours, _Bakura_ , and I am not and never have been _reckless_."

"I beg to differ."

Marik hissed. "The hell do you know?!"

"Please," Bakura smirked at him. "You're stealing by yourself in the middle of the night, when you know there are guards on the lookout."

Marik huffed. "Do I look caught to you?"

"Not yet." Bakura glanced around, reached out, and grasped Marik's wrist to draw him further into the shadows. "But at the rate you're going, it's only a matter of time."

Marik complied, but kept glaring. "Why do you even care?"

Bakura's brown eyes held his gaze with a cool, impassive expression.

"I mean it," Marik hissed. "Why do you care what messes I get into?"

"…Because you shouldn't be a mess," Bakura eventually answered in a low voice.

Marik gave a harsh, barking laugh. "You don't get to decide that."

Bakura arched a brow. "And you do?"

"No one gets a say in my life apart from me."

Bakura tutted, folding his arms. He fixed Marik with a keen glance. "Maybe I want one."

Marik stopped, shock flitting over his features for a moment. "What?"

"Maybe I want a say in your life, Ishtar." Bakura leaned back against the wall and inspected his nails, the picture of ease.

Marik glared at him. "Tough shit. Get out of my way."

Bakura kept his cool brown eyes on Marik as he stepped aside, allowing Marik to pass him by. "I will still be watching, Ishtar."

"Don't expect anything to change, Bakura," Marik hissed as he strode into the alley.

Bakura looked after him, his features as impassive as ever. When he spoke, his words were almost too low to hear.

"Give it time."

…

The next time they met, Marik was sitting in an alley in the rain, his back pressed to the wall and his face buried in his hands.

It was late, but now the moon was full, highlighting the black of the alley and the sheen of the puddles gathering on the pavement. Marik ignored it all. His hands were fisted in his blond hair, clutching desperately at his strands and tugging until the pain at his scalp overrode the pain he felt everywhere else in his body. His eyes were screwed tight shut, his ears only listening to the thud of the raindrops on the ground. He was soaked already, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

A new sound soon invaded his relative peace – footsteps. Then, an all-too-familiar scent invaded his sanctuary, promising hard work and uneasy questions that Marik didn't want to have to face. He groaned, speaking between his fingers. "What do you want, Bakura?"

The footsteps stopped. Silence held for long enough that Marik began to hope he would somehow, miraculously, get away without having to face another of these awkward confrontations, but his luck had never been that good. Especially not lately.

Instead, a cool hand landed on his soaked knee, and Bakura's low voice chuckled, "How did you know it was me, Ishtar?"

Marik opened one eye just enough to send Bakura a glare. "You've made such a habit of invading my space, I've come to recognise you."

"Clearly." Bakura's brown eyes were sparkling, and despite himself, Marik felt his stomach flip.

Marik heaved a low sigh and shifted against the wall. He dropped his hands from his face to better glare at Bakura, although to be honest, he looked more tired than angry. His blond hair fell dripping into his eyes, his clothes soaked and clinging to him. Marik sighed lowly. "What do you want?"

"To check on you." Bakura's brow creased and he gestured to Marik's soaked form. "Why are you sitting in the rain?"

Marik closed his eyes. "Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't." Marik opened one eye to glare, "And it's none of your business."

Bakura's lips twitched. "About that, I beg to differ."

Marik stared at him. "What?"

"Everything you do is my business. Now, why are you sitting in the rain, Ishtar?" Bakura asked smoothly, blatantly ignoring Marik's astonished look.

Marik's eyes narrowed. "If you must know, I had a fight with my sister."

"Another one?" Bakura quirked an eyebrow. "You're making quite the habit of that."

Marik glared. "How in the hell do you know?"

"I've been watching."

"You're a damn stalker."

"Yes," Bakura answered without blinking, and his smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth again. "What were you fighting about this time?"

Marik closed his eyes and sank a little further down the wall. He blew out a low sigh between pursed lips, and amazingly, there was pain in his expression. Marik _never_ allowed himself to show emotion, but this time, Bakura had apparently caught him in a low enough moment for him to be unable to hide his true feelings. Bakura's eyes narrowed and he shifted closer, placing a hand on Marik's arm. "Tell me, Marik."

"She wants me to be happy," Marik eventually murmured.

Bakura quirked a brow, waiting, knowing there had to be more.

"She wants me to be happy about _him_." Marik's voice throbbed with low, uncontrollable rage.

Bakura's eyes narrowed a little, and he leaned closer, peering into Marik's face. "Why?"

"He's coming here." Marik closed his eyes and tipped his head back, allowing pain to leak into his tone. "Back to Egypt."

Bakura started. "The _Pharaoh_ is coming _here_?!"

Marik could do little more than give an exhausted nod. "Ishizu wants us to welcome him, to help him s-settle in…" he drew in a harsh breath, almost gagging, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Bakura slid closer in almost immediate understanding. He crouched beside Marik, leaning against the wall next to him, and made sure he was close enough for their sides to be touching. He could feel Marik trembling through the pouring rain, even through the damp coldness of their clothes.

"You don't have to," Bakura finally grunted.

Marik gave a harsh laugh. "I wish."

"You don't." Bakura pinned him with a charged stare. "You said it yourself – no one gets a say in your life anymore."

Marik shifted, glancing down at the sodden ground. His fingers twisted in the hem of his soaked shirt. " _He_ does," Marik answered finally, and his tone was almost broken. "He always has."

Bakura glared. "You've never done what he wanted."

"I did." Marik closed his eyes, and his tone was so broken that it tore at Bakura's heartstrings. "I'm a _tombkeeper_. _His_ tombkeeper. I can't be free of him until he's dead, but now he's back, I don't even know if he ever _will_ die…"

"That's why you're such a mess," Bakura realised slowly. "You can't be free as long as he's alive."

Marik squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands again. His voice sounded muffled, laced through with venom and cynicism. "A round of applause for the Ring Spirit. You've got it in one."

Silence hung between them for several long moments as Bakura mulled that over. His long white hair dripped down around his face, clinging to the long black trench coat he still wore, even in this new body that was solely his. His face creased slightly, and he leaned a little closer into Marik's side. "You still don't have to help him anymore."

Marik twitched. "Not what my sister says."

"Fuck her," Bakura answered impatiently, "You finished your duty as a tombkeeper. He has no hold over your life anymore."

"It's easy for _you_ to say," Marik shot back quietly.

Bakura stopped and frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're back now, too," Marik mumbled, "Just like him."

"And?"

" _And_ , you both get a chance to live again. To move on. But…" Marik drew in a shuddering breath, his hands clenching into fists. "But you don't have to keep _carrying it_ …"

Bakura paused again. He fixed Marik with a piercing stare, cogs turning in his brain as he slowly started to piece together the real problem here. He pursed his lips. "Are you referring to your back?"

Marik flinched.

Bakura gave a low sigh and, unbidden, wrapped one arm about Marik's shoulders. Marik didn't pull away immediately, so Bakura tightened his grip and leaned closer, his lips close to Marik's ear as he murmured, "Just because I don't have physical scars anymore doesn't mean I don't still carry my past."

Marik was silent for a long time, his shoulders trembling, before he replied, "But the Items are gone."

"Yes, they're gone," Bakura mused aloud, "But the Pharaoh's presence on this earth is still an abomination."

"So why don't you do something about it?" Marik accused.

Bakura gave a low chuckle. "Because, frankly, three thousand years of plotting was quite enough for me."

Marik shifted just enough to send him a dark glare.

"My people are at peace, finally," Bakura murmured, his brown eyes trained straight on Marik's, "And now I have this new life, I plan to use it for _me_."

"But how can you do that?" Marik murmured brokenly. "How can you do it when he's still just walking around?"

"I'm not going to let him ruin this life, too," Bakura growled, "And you shouldn't, either."

Marik snorted. "If only it was that simple."

"It can be, if you want."

"Not for me." Marik's eyes darkened and he glared down at the pavement. The rain kept falling down around them, curtaining them in darkness and the shadows of the full moon. Marik turned fully to train his gaze straight on Bakura, and his expression was now carefully constructed, masking his emotions. "Why do you even care about what happens to me?"

Bakura sent him an impassive stare.

"You just said it," Marik pressed. "This life is yours now. Why the hell are you spending it stalking me?"

Bakura felt his lips twitch into a slight smirk. "You're interesting, Ishtar."

"Oh, great," Marik muttered sarcastically, "So I've become entertainment for some Ancient Egyptian bastard. Yay."

"You're more than that, idiot."

"What?" Marik arched a brow, about to ask more, but Bakura effectively shut him up by leaning closer and pressing his lips against Marik's.

Marik went still.

A moment or two later, Bakura drew back, and he smirked at Marik with a glittering brown gaze. "Some things I didn't get the chance to do in my previous lives, Ishtar."

Marik stared at him for another long moment before he finally shook himself back to consciousness. He glared at Bakura, shook him off, and got back to his feet, the rainwater forming a puddle around his shoes. He stared hard at Bakura as he growled, "I'm going home."

"Good idea," Bakura answered sagely, "You look like a drowned rat."

"Not like you look much better!" Marik flared.

Bakura merely grinned at him.

Marik rolled his eyes, spinning on his heel and storming away to the edge of the alley. Bakura watched him go with amusement tugging at his lips, and an odd warmth reverberating through his chest.

"If you need a break, just go to the street," Bakura called after him with a low chuckle, "And I will find you."

Marik merely sent a very rude gesture over his shoulder, and continued to storm out of the alley.

…

Soon enough, however, Marik found himself needing an escape.

The Pharaoh was indeed planning to return to Egypt, and Ishizu was thrilled. She put so much pressure on Marik to be pleased, too, that he found he was having to force himself not to throw her out of a window. Odion seemed to pick up on his mood, as always, but he had no permanent solution. Marik was once again lost, once again floundering in a life he had never wanted for himself.

"I will _not_ help him," Marik growled to himself as he stormed down the street away from his house. It was sunny this time, at least, and not pouring with rain, but he couldn't help but shiver when he remembered the last time he had been out on the streets alone, and Bakura had found him. He must still be lurking around here somewhere, Marik reasoned.

Predictably, it didn't take long for Bakura to show his face again.

"You won't help who, Ishtar?"

And just like that, a lean, black-coated frame was striding along beside Marik, and a cool pale hand was entwined with his.

Marik blinked, fixing Bakura with a glare. "How do you _do_ that?"

"Do what?"

"Just … show up out of nowhere."

"I'm good," Bakura answered with an easy chuckle.

Marik rolled his eyes. "Arrogant bastard."

"Yep. So, who are you refusing to help?"

Marik rolled his eyes heavenward. "Who do you think?"

"Hmm…" Bakura smirked at him. "Our esteemed Pharaoh, the most hated man in Egypt?"

"Not in Egypt," Marik griped, though he couldn't help but laugh a little. "Just by you and me, I think."

"Probably true," Bakura nodded.

Marik gave a low sigh, and tightened his fingers around Bakura's. "He's coming to Egypt next week."

A deep crease appeared in Bakura's brow.

"I don't want to be here," Marik growled, his fingers clenching.

"So don't be," Bakura shrugged.

Marik gave a harsh laugh. "I wish."

"You are quite capable of leaving, Marik."

"It isn't that easy," Marik mumbled.

Bakura stopped them walking and turned to face him, one brow arched. "Why?"

Marik glared at him. "Where would I even go?"

"Anywhere."

"Wouldn't get far on my own," Marik snorted with a shake of his head.

Bakura shrugged. "So don't go alone."

"Yeah, right," Marik rolled his eyes. "My siblings won't go with me."

"So come with me."

Marik froze. He spun slowly on his heel to face Bakura, slight shock in his expression. "Excuse me?"

Bakura shrugged, his eyes glittering. "I wouldn't mind getting out of here."

Marik stared. "And … you want me to just come with you?"

"Is there a problem with that?"

Marik snorted. "Why would you even want me to?"

Bakura eyed him calmly. "I thought that would be obvious."

Marik glared. "You kissed me once, and you stalk me. You call that obvious?"

"Yes."

Marik shook his head. "No. If I was going to go with you, you'd have to tell me _exactly_ what you mean."

Bakura's lips pursed, his eyes darkening into a glare.

Marik eyed him, anger in his gaze. "See? You can't say it, can you?"

Bakura swallowed, his jaw clicking, but he kept silent.

Marik pulled out of his grip with a shake of his head. He gave a cynical snort. "I knew it. Goodbye, Bakura."

Without another word, Marik waltzed away from Bakura, his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

…

The next time they met was the last time in Egypt.

It was around a month later. Marik was, once again, a mess. He had taken to the streets in the evening again, needing to get away from his family, from Egypt, from everything. He couldn't handle it anymore. The Pharaoh was back in Egypt, just as smug and arrogant as ever, and it was messing with Marik's head until he could feel darkness threatening to press against his skull. He needed to get away. He needed to escape, before he went mad again.

He went into the first bar he found. Several drinks later, and he was drunk enough to forget why fighting was a bad idea. The men he had angered scrapped with him until they were chucked out, but they continued brawling in the street, at least until Marik found himself flung against the wall of an alley by the biggest of them all.

White-hot pain flared down his scars.

Marik screamed aloud before he could stop himself. He could sense the laughs and sneers from the men he had been fighting, before they got bored and trickled away, but he couldn't stop himself from wailing with the pain. His fingers were gripped into tight fists, his teeth clenched as ripples of burning pain flared down the scars on his back. His body was bruised and cut, but the worse was, without a doubt, his back. His head dropped and he clung to his hair, body trembling and shaking. Nausea roiled in his gut.

Of course, Bakura found him.

Footsteps ran to Marik's side, and deliciously familiar cool hands landed on Marik's shoulders, holding him tight. Bakura's familiar dark voice echoed in the roaring of Marik's ears. "Ishtar? What's the matter?"

Marik could do little but wail.

Bakura moved automatically. Arms wrapped tight around Marik's form, pulling him closer, and Bakura gently ran his fingers around to Marik's back. He could feel the blood leaking through the scars, the hot burning pain that pulsed so drastically under his feelings.

Marik buried his head in Bakura's shoulder, screwing his eyes shut. He could feel tears leaking out from under his lids, so he hid further in Bakura's shoulder, pressing himself impossibly close. He was trembling.

"What happened?" Bakura asked gruffly.

Marik drew in a shuddering breath. "Fucking … bastard … threw me into … wall…" He cut off, drawing in a sharp, pained breath.

Bakura pressed him closer and lightly dragged his fingers down Marik's back. He could feel Marik trembling against him, feel the sharp ridges of those damned scars even through the material of his shirt. Scars that no one should have to carry, inflicted on him at such a young age. They had never healed, and neither had the mental scars Marik had been carrying ever since.

Marik growled into Bakura's shoulder. "I … I have to carry this _forever_ … it isn't _fair_! It isn't damn fair…"

"I know," Bakura murmured into Marik's ear as he held him tight.

"And the Pharaoh is still fucking here!" Marik trembled, his hands clenching into tight fists. "Why … why does he think he can just _walk back in here_ …"

"Marik," Bakura murmured, holding him close. "I _know._ "

Marik drew in another trembling, shaking breath. He clutched onto Bakura like a drowning man clings to a lifeboat.

"You should have come with me," Bakura growled eventually.

Marik gave a breathless, harsh laugh. "Why? How would anything have been different?"

"Because I _know,_ " Bakura hissed, his lips right by Marik's ear. "I know what the Pharaoh is, what he _truly_ is."

Marik shook. He lifted his face and stared Bakura right in the eyes, and his expression was strangely open, strangely vulnerable. "But you wouldn't say it."

Bakura went silent. His brown eyes burned into Marik's.

"You can't say why you stick around me," Marik glared, "So there is no reason for me to…"

He was cut off once more by Bakura leaning close and pressing his lips against Marik's. The kiss was searing and fast, hard enough to bruise. When Bakura pulled back, he growled, "Do I really have to say it?"

Marik glared at him. "If I'm coming with you, then yes, you do."

Bakura hissed. He pressed his forehead against Marik's and fixed him with a glare. "I…"

When the silence drew on too long, Marik pressed a palm to Bakura's cheek and leaned in to kiss him again, his eyes sliding closed. He drew back slowly, murmuring, "You what?"

"I hate you," Bakura growled.

Marik grinned at him. "Not good enough."

Bakura released a low, frustrated huff. He wrapped his arms tight around Marik and tugged him close, pressing his face into Marik's shoulder as he murmured, almost too quiet to hear, "I love you, Marik Ishtar."

Marik smiled. A sense of warmth flooded through his veins, and then he nestled closer. His hands cupped Bakura's cheeks, looking him straight in the eyes as he murmured, "I love you, too." He leaned close and they kissed again, longer and sweeter this time.

When they pulled away, Marik's eyes had dimmed a little, the pain in them receding far away. He hummed. "Does the offer still stand?"

Bakura arched a brow. "What offer?"

"Can I come with you?"

Bakura paused for a moment, then he gave a low chuckle. "I'm not letting you stay here a moment longer. You're a fucking mess."

Marik grimaced. "Don't I know it."

Bakura touched his cheek gently. "Not for much longer, once I've got my hands on you."

Despite himself, Marik felt a low shiver ripple down his back at that. His scars still burned with pain, but it felt much further away with Bakura's arms tight around him.

"Where will we go?" Marik murmured eventually.

"Anywhere." Bakura paused. "…Anywhere you want."

Marik grinned. He pressed his face into Bakura's shoulder. "I don't care, as long as it's with you."

Bakura huffed. "Sappy bullshit."

"Shut up and hold me."

Bakura gave another low chuckle, but he didn't argue anymore as he tightened his arms around Marik.

That was their last night in Egypt, and the next morning dawned with the both of them travelling far, far away from Egypt, together.

 **I truly suck at endings. Sorry. Still, I hope you enjoyed! ^_^**


End file.
